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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739972">Thats Not My Bard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinOfTheShire/pseuds/MerlinOfTheShire'>MerlinOfTheShire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Comedy, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Cares About Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Reunions, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sensory Overload, human disaster geralt of rivia, post-mountain, sensory issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:15:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinOfTheShire/pseuds/MerlinOfTheShire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt and Jaskier run into each other several years after the mountain. Much has changed. </p><p>...So much so that Geralt somehow fails to recognise Jaskier at all, much to the bards bemusement. </p><p>Or </p><p>That time that Jaskier went through a grunge phase after the mountain break up and Geralt doesn't recognise him, so he just sort of goes along with it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>478</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: I don't own the Witcher in any of its forms.</p><p>This was base of a post made by astral-almighty on Tumblr, who has kindly let me write this.  </p><p>A/N </p><p>There might be a few errors/typos I haven't seen yet,  but I promise to fix them as soon as I can!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s the music that he notices first. Familiar, but with an edge to it that he doesn’t quite recognise. Rougher, angrier. Jaskier’s music was always soft, so it can’t be him. The songs are his though, even if he doesn’t know whose singing them.</p><p>He doesn’t have much choice about entering the inn. The next one he might find is a three days ride away, so he can’t hide from the song, and spending the night outside would set him back with the contract. If he wanted information, the inn was the place to be.</p><p>Apparently, most of the village also thought it was the place to be.</p><p>The bard atop the table has drawn much attention, as Jaskier’s songs often did. This bards voice is harsher, and the way he commands his voice has changed the emotion of the song, turning it from loud and vigorous, to almost brooding. He’s good, <em>very good, </em>but he isn’t sure he likes this version of Jaskier’s song.</p><p>The bard himself matches his tone in appearance, his hair slightly ragged, down to his shoulders.  He has a slight stubble to his face, trimmed but un-neat. His clothes give off the impression of a well-worn traveller, with dark brown leather and textured fabrics, but Geralt can see the deliberate wear to them.</p><p>This bard was rich, but wanted his audience to see him as one of them instead.</p><p>Smart.</p><p>He settles himself into an evening of staring into his mead, listening to nearby conversations. The contact had been vague, with no definitive description of the beast, only its horror. The stories would be muddled, so he needed to pick out any consistencies, and this would fastest way to do it.</p><p>Footsteps soon approach him, light, but unmistakably booted. The bard then.</p><p>He stares into his mead.</p><p>“Uh, hello-“</p><p>“Don’t waste your time, I’m not looking for a bard,” he growls. “Been there, done that.” He lifts his mead to drink, hoping to avoid further conversation.</p><p>“Well fuck you too, Geralt.”</p><p>He freezes. <em>How- </em>Weary now, he faces the bard. “You know my name?”</p><p>The bard’s face quickly turns in confusion, “come again?”</p><p>He frowns, realising. “The songs… seems everyone knows them...” He sighs, putting down his mead. “What’s your name, bard?”</p><p>The bard fidgets, “eh- “</p><p>He raises an eyebrow, “you don’t know your name?”</p><p>The bard gathers himself, straightening his brown leather doublet. “Erwin. I’m Erwin.”</p><p>He hums, and he finds himself remembering. “You’re not the first bard I’ve come across with a fake name.”</p><p>Erwin flusters, “I- It wasn’t <em>fake. </em>I’ll have you know-“</p><p>He lifts a hand “easy, bard. I won’t pry for your reasons. I’m not in the mood for long conversations.”</p><p>Erwin tilts his head slightly, smiling. “How do you know it would be a long conversation. I’d say it would actually be a rather quick explanation if-“</p><p>“Because bard’s never shut up,” he interrupts, almost smiling.</p><p>The bard chuckles, “now what gave you that idea?”</p><p>“Were still talking.</p><p>The bard smiles. “So we are.”</p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p><em>Shit. Shit. Shit.</em> </p><p>He’s smiling, but he’s panicking.</p><p>How long can he keep this up, and how the fuck does Geralt not recognise him? He hasn’t changed <em>that much, </em>and Geralt certainly seems to know his songs, so memory loss isn’t an explanation. Perhaps idiocy?</p><p>A likely culprit.</p><p>How is this his life.</p><p>Though…</p><p>Destiny has surely blessed him, for he could never have imagined having the chance to seduce the same witcher all over again. Maybe if he uses the same tactics Geralt might put one and two together and figure it out. Recognise him and well, eh…  </p><p>He can dream.</p><p>Or he’ll be stuck as Erwin until someone inevitably recognises him. He also could just be on his way, and let Geralt live his life blissfully unaware of their encounter, forever thinking he had once spoken briefly to some random no-name bard. </p><p>Destiny wouldn't be pleased. </p><p>Perhaps he should just, well, <em>be himself. </em>As if Geralt has recognised him, and they are going on as normal, before the whole mountain fiasco. He’ll just be called Erwin, until Geralt knows him as Jaskier again.</p><p>He doesn’t want to <em>lie </em>about being someone new. He’s just …Erwin now. And Geralt just happens to have not recognised him.</p><p>Erwin… that’s dreadful. Hopefully, Geralt will forget and he can come up with something better. Dandelion, perhaps, just to really test Geralt’s intelligence.</p><p>He sighs, offering Geralt another winning smile. ‘What do you say we retire? We could have that long conversation?”</p><p>“I told you, I’m not looking for a bard.”</p><p>He tilts his head again. He always got his way when he did that. “What about a travelling companion?”</p><p>Geralt stares at him for a moment, and he thinks the witcher might even be considering it.</p><p>“Goodbye, bard.”</p><p>Ah well.</p><p>------</p><p>He figures out what Geralt is here for. One quick swoop of the notice board is enough for him to find the contract. It doesn’t exactly say… what it is. Only where it <em>might </em>be. The woods, apparently. How cliché.</p><p>He’d heard whispers of people disappearing in the middle of the night, dragged off by something. He’d only been in this town for a few days, but already he had heard the rumours that dogs, wargs, or even a werewolf was to blame.</p><p>But only after midnight. Bad luck for anyone who likes to have fun.</p><p>Though, he’s got a good idea of what it is, and Geralt is bound to have figured it out by now as well. He’s been here for hours, and its well past dark. So unless he’s gotten as slow as his facial recognition skills, he would have likely already started moving into the woods, potions taken.</p><p>He’s always a grump afterwards, everything much too loud and bright for him. …He’ll need a bath, not to mention getting help back to the inn if its light by the time he’s done.</p><p>Yes… he probably should go after him.</p><p>And he also wants to see Roach.</p><p>Mainly that. Not Geralt.</p><p>He’s still mad.</p><p>And defiantly doesn’t care if Geralt gets stuck out there in the woods until the potions wear off.</p><p>Not at all.</p><p>He sighs. Well fuck.</p><p>Time to follow his witcher.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>The beast is a Barghest, a hound that steals its victims away, appearing only after midnight. If he remembers correctly, the beast should emerge from a fog, and based on the rumours, just such a fog should be in the heart of the woods.</p><p>Right here.</p><p>Unless he has horribly misjudged what this beast is and will have to return the following night …and probably won’t be paid in full.</p><p>But it’s unlikely that he’s wrong. The pattern of which the victims have disappeared is too consistent.</p><p>And the fog that is now appearing from the earth would also suggest he is correct. Though it still could just be foglets. He crouches behind a fallen log, deciding to wait. Foglets will appear quickly, but the Barghest might take longer. He isn’t sure of the time, the trees hiding the moon from-</p><p>“A Barghest, no?”</p><p>He almost jumps out of his skin right then and there.</p><p>Hand on his sword, he forces himself to breathe. Growling under his breath, he turns to the bard. “How-“</p><p>“The fog and the midnight thing narrowed it down a bit to be honest,” the bard says, smiling casually.</p><p>He’s losing his patience now. “No, how did you not make noise?”</p><p>The bard shrugs, “eh, I didn’t?” </p><p>A low growl interrupts him from arguing. He’ll figure this out later. Teeth bared, he pushes the bard down behind the log. “Stay here!”</p><p>“Ask me nicely,” the bard retorts, though he does stay.</p><p>Small mercies.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Well, it looks like Geralt has a handle of things, probably. He’s not dead so that’s got to be a good sign.</p><p>Except the barghest has Geralt pinned to the ground. He winces, waiting for Geralt to get the upper hand and slay the beast. It’s just a really big dog, right? Bit of silver will do the trick. Has he still got his sword? He cant quite tell.</p><p>He fidgets, watching Geralt holding off the beast’s jaws.</p><p>Yeah, he definitely doesn’t have his sword… it's probably hidden in the fog somewhere, knocked out of Geralt’s hand.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>He rises to a crouch. <em>Come on, Geralt…</em></p><p>He doesn’t seem to be getting the upper hand, and those teeth look quite sharp… <em>Fuck it</em>, he thinks, jumping over the log. Time to save a witcher then. He creeps forward, keeping low to the ground, not wanting to startle the beast. He needs to go undetected if he is to do this, that beast is much stronger then he if it can keep Geralt down. </p><p>By some miracle, his foot nudges the hilt of Geralt’s silver sword. Crouching, he takes it up, wielding the heavy weapon as best he can. Honestly, he’d probably have better luck with his lute.</p><p>Now what was it that you had to do to kill a barghest… The heart, wasn’t it?  Or was that werewolves? It’s probably the heart, besides, he’s not confident in his ability to lop its head off.</p><p>Right, this shouldn’t be too hard…</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Blood splatters over his chest, and the beast goes still.</p><p>How-</p><p>His sword driven through its side.</p><p>Who…</p><p>He pushes the beast off, stumbling to his feast in his haste to get up. He looks for his rescuer. Surely not the bard… He wipes the blood from his face, aware of how he must look, pale-skinned and black-eyed. Perhaps he will run?</p><p>Except the bard is standing in front of him, wielding his silver sword like an angry cook might wield a ladle. His heartbeat is fast, painfully loud, and blood splatters his face. It was him then.</p><p>Hmm.</p><p>He looks to the Barghasts body, blood seeping from a wound over its heart. A fatal wound. He frowns at the sight, “you knew to pierce its heart?”</p><p>“What, no thanks?”</p><p>He comes into the moon-light, so the bard might see his face. Surely, he will run now.</p><p>But he doesn’t.</p><p>He thinks for a moment, uncomfortable with the familiarity of the situation. “…you could have been killed,” he says, when the bard gives no sign of horror.</p><p>The bard scoffs, “I wasn’t the one with a pair of fangs around my throat.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Crossing his arms, the bard rolls his eyes, “oh, don’t you start.”</p><p>Start… he isn’t starting anything? He frowns, “you should go back to the inn.”</p><p>The bard tilt’s his head again, “you’re not coming?”</p><p>“People don’t respond well to a black-eyed witcher. The potions have not yet worn.”</p><p>The bard waves a hand, “oh, don’t be silly. That could take hours and it’s probably going to rain. I'm sure your mare won't appreciate that very much, besides, I’ve made friends with the inn-keeper. He won't stop you if he sees you are with me.”</p><p>He thinks about that for a moment. Such a thing hasn’t been possible since Jaskier left- since he pushed him away. It would be nice to wait out the potions effects in the comfort of a room.</p><p>“Hmm,” he agrees.</p><p>Erwin smiles, “right! Shall we go get your reward then? I could draw you a bath if you like? Get some camomile or something…”</p><p>This is much too familiar. Are all bards this way, offering witchers baths and camomile? Comforts that he only felt comfortable receiving in the company of Jaskier. He just... he cant do this. He folds his arms, “<em>I </em>will collect my reward. You will go on your way once we reach the inn.”</p><p>The bard makes a vague hand gesture, “ehh… technically I killed it, so I’d say I’m entitled to some reward, no?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>The bard looks at him hopefully, “…or perhaps you could let me stick around? Be your barker-“</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The bard tuts, “come now, I’ve shown you I’m useful.”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow, “and unable to listen to orders. You could have been killed, that makes you a liability,” he says, voice low. “If you had been killed, they would have chased me out of town. Called me a butcher, thinking I killed you, not the beast… or perhaps I out of annoyance.”</p><p>“Hey-“</p><p>He straps his sword to his back, “you can have twenty percentage of the reward once we get back to the inn, and then you will go on your way, bard. Sing your songs, stay away from monsters.”</p><p>The bard looks at him curiously, and Geralt thinks perhaps even sadly.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mean yourself,” he says, voice softer.</p><p>Geralt sighs, “we should get moving, bard.”</p><p>The bard, to his surprise, doesn’t say another word.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p>He’d managed to escape to his room while the bard was distracted. A room he wasn’t sure he’d have, had the bard not spoken so softly to the inn-keeper. He had long since learnt to ignore the stares that his pale skin and dark eyes brought, but he was ever aware of how they lingered.</p><p>How the smell of fear grew stronger every step he took.</p><p>Yet the bard had made sure he received his pay, his horse stabled, and his room prepared with a waiting bath, paying for it out of his own pocket. Probably counting on his ‘reward’ for helping slay the beast.</p><p>Though, he’d made no mention of it yet.</p><p>The bath had helped, eased some of his senses as the potion wore off. Hearing was always the last to return to normal, and his eyes. Always his eyes. Even after they returned to their usual colour, he remained sensitive to light or movement that was too quick. The noise from the inn was not as loud as he had expected. The bard did not play, probably having retired himself. He was glad that there was no extra noise, no matter how pleasant, to mix with the voices and bangs that came from below.</p><p>Sleep would be unlikely to find him tonight.</p><p>He settles on the floor, hoping to meditate. To ease away the hours until the remaining effects of his potions began to fade-</p><p>Someone’s knocking on his door.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>He looks to his swords, deciding is he should move and risk giving away his presence in the room-</p><p>“Don’t fret, dear witcher, it’s just your loyal troubadour, not a bruxer!” calls a voice. The bard's voice.</p><p>
  <em>What is it with these bards… </em>
</p><p>His brow furrows, “go away, bard.” He doesn’t want company, especially that of a bard. It’s too… familiar?</p><p>Frightening.</p><p>“I made you tea?” the bard says softly, “as a thank you.”</p><p>That doesn’t make sense… Hadn’t the man been insistent that it was <em>he</em>that should be thanking the bard? Getting up, he opens the door, curiosity getting the better of him. Or perhaps it was the sense of familiarity.</p><p>He would not relax though, no matter if the familiarity of this all wanted to lull him into a sense of safety. This was not Jaskier, and even if it was, he would not be relaxed. Not after everything.</p><p>“You killed the beast,” he says, letting the bard enter anyway.</p><p>The bard enters calmly, a dangerous thing to do when entering the domain of a monster according to most. Yet he could smell no fear.</p><p>The bard hands him the tea, “yes well, just… thank you?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>He catches the bards small smile as he turns, gazing upon his few belongings. Watching him, he smells the tea.</p><p>Not poison.</p><p>Camomile?</p><p>Oh.</p><p>How-</p><p>He sips it, barely restraining a groan as the taste soothes his senses. Only Jaskier had ever made tea like this. Perhaps it was a bard thing? Something they taught at Oxenfurt. He drinks the rest of the tea, eyes closed so he might better focus on the taste.</p><p>He feels anxiety suddenly roll off the bard. “Is it to your liking?” he asks.</p><p>Opening his eyes, he hands the teacup to the bard, hoping to stop his fidgeting. “It’s okay.”</p><p>The bard looks at him softly, “your senses treating you well?”</p><p>He hums, relaxed. Had the bard laced this?</p><p>The bard searches inside his coat pocket for something “Your ears are still sensitive I imagine,” he says, voice still soft, “especially with the racket going on downstairs.”<br/><br/>“Hmm.”</p><p>The bard chuckles, pulling out a bit of white cloth. He tears two pieces from it, twists them up. Curious, Geralt watches as the bard goes over to a candle, carefully coating the cloth with some of the wax.</p><p>“You’ll have to wait for them to harden…” the bard says, blowing lightly on them. “Then you might be able to get some sleep.”</p><p>Geralt watches, surprised, as the bard goes about cooling the wax, shaping it slightly around the cotton. For his ears, he realises. Jaskier had done something similar for him once, but he had never seen them made.</p><p>“How do you know to do this?”</p><p>The bard smiles, almost sadly. “I’m a bard, I know everything about witchers.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>It isn’t an answer, but he doubts the bard will speak more of it. He will have to learn more himself. Learn if he is in some way a threat.</p><p>The bard pats his thighs, “well, I’ll be off then. I’m a few rooms over, if you eh, need anything. I hope to see you in the morning.”</p><p>He says nothing. Not by choice, his words have left him, as they so often did with Jaskier all those years ago.</p><p>The bard shakes his head, smiling softly. “Goodnight, Geralt.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N </p><p>This chapter was a wee bit shorter so I've extended the chapter count. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He sneaks off to roach’s stall sometime after he leaves Geralt’s room. He’d barely been able to say a word to her the whole time back in the woods. He’d missed her dearly, and it pained him to pretend he had never seen her before in his life</p><p>Sugar cubes ought to be a worthy apology.</p><p>“Hey, girl,” he says softly, approaching her.</p><p>Naturally, she pins her ears at him.</p><p>Also naturally, he knows she’s bluffing.</p><p>Probably.</p><p>He strokes her muzzle, looking into her eyes, “I am sorry, but your master seems to have not recognised me, silly git. I see you, however, are not suffering from whatever affliction he has.”</p><p>Roach, to her credit, does not bite him.</p><p>He pets her a while longer, mumbling idle tales to her. How he came to return to Oxenfurt for a time after he left, but found he no longer felt the same comfort it used to bring. It had been a safe place to return to for the winter, after he met Geralt. Now, it felt strange to live there, without the intention of leaving at the first sign of spring.</p><p>He tells her how he left, travelled, got beat up and robbed he doesn’t know how many times. Nilfgaurd almost got him one time. Looking for the princess, he thinks. Or maybe Geralt. They, unfortunately, didn’t suffer from the inability to recognise him after a bit of hair growth and a wardrobe change.</p><p>Yennefer, bless her, had got him out of that one. Told him which places to avoid, which places to go. They’d grown close, in their mutual dumbing of Geralt. Or was it the other way around? He wasn’t sure.</p><p>Roach listens, giving the occasional snort of agreement.</p><p>He sighs, finishing his tale. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the sugar cubes. “Now,” he says, “I would very much like to accompany you and our witcher tomorrow, but I expect he will try to leave before I can follow him.”</p><p>Roach looks at the cubes with interest.</p><p>He shakes his head, wondering if he is going mad. “I would be indebted to you, dear Roach, if you would walk rather slowly for me tomorrow, so I might catch up.” With that, he gives her the sugar cubes, wondering what level of crazy he has reached that makes him think Roach and he have struck some kind of bargain with sugar cubes as leverage.</p><p>Giving her a final scratch, he goes back to the inn.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>The sun barely beginning to appear, Geralt mounts Roach. He needs to be on his way before that bard is possessed by whatever it is that makes them want to follow after witchers. He doesn’t need a bard.</p><p>Not… that one, at least.</p><p>No matter how good his tea.</p><p>He squeezes his thighs, urging Roach on. If he can make it to the next town by nightfall-</p><p>Roach hasn’t moved.</p><p>Frowning, he pushes his heals into her, hoping the pressure will do the trick. She remines unmoving. Confused, he dismounts. She’s never… she must have gone lame in the night, or a rock as wedged itself in one of her hooves. He inspects each leg carefully, checking for swelling or anything that might be paining her.</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Not even a bit of dirt.</p><p>She seems… normal.</p><p>No pawing, or signs of illness. She’s just as he had left her. He can sense no fear either, so she can’t have seen something that made her so resistant. Frowning, he leads her on, and finds no resistance from her.</p><p>“Do you not wish me to ride?” he asks, expecting no answer. Obviously.</p><p>Roach blinks.</p><p>The urgency to leave beings to overwhelm him, so he remounts, expecting whatever it was to have passed. Thankfully, she walks on.</p><p>Slowly.</p><p>Very slowly. She’s dragging her feet in the dirt, barely taking a step at a time. He pushes her on, hoping a steady trot might energise her. She does trot, but they barely cover a small stretch of road before she begins to hump her back, kicking her hind up.</p><p>“<em>Roach</em>,” he growls, circling her around.</p><p>She walks on calmly, her stride long.</p><p>In the direction of the inn.</p><p>
  <em>Hmm. </em>
</p><p>He halts her, “you trying to tell me I’ve forgotten something?”</p><p>She snorts.</p><p>He decides he won’t read into that.</p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>He’d managed to get Roach to walk in the opposite direction of the inn, on foot. She seemed content to walk, so long as he was on the ground, and not on her back. He’d checked her back after that discovery, and once again found nothing wrong. Nor had he had left nothing behind. He had his swords, his potions and his coin. Everything except a bard.</p><p>They weren’t Jaskier though, he wasn’t leaving Jaskier behind. Just a bard, with a fake name and stupid lack of fear for witchers-</p><p>He stops, stares at the ground in disdain.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>He should never have gone to that inn. Or any inn.</p><p>------</p><p>He walks for maybe two hours more before deciding it is safe to think about stopping, there is a stream around the bend of those trees, so he can let Roach-</p><p>How the fuck-</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Well, Geralt finally caught up it seems. He hopes Roach wasn’t too difficult for him, he wouldn’t want to get he in trouble. He’d seen the fuss she’d pulled back outside the inn and had taken the opportunity to get a head start.</p><p>He’d intended on just following on after, but he saw an opportunity and he took it. Any chance to make Geralt contemplate his sanity was automatically a win in his books.</p><p>“Oh, Geralt!” he says, acting as if he had just gone for a stroll and hadn’t expected to see the witcher at all.</p><p>Geralt glares at him. “Bard.”</p><p>“Erwin,” he corrects, shouldering his lute.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Well, he supposes that will do as any response goes. “I thought you might come this way,” he says, and its not exactly a lie. “Winter approaching and all…”</p><p>Geralt squints at him, lips pursed. Probably wondering how the fuck he knows what direction Kher Morhen is in. <em>Come on Geralt, connect the dots… </em></p><p>Before Geralt can question him, he draws his attention to Roach. “Hello, lovely!” he coos, approaching her.</p><p>Geralt reaches for him, “no, don’t touch… Roach.”</p><p>He strokes her nose like he had the night before, whispering praise to her as her eyes begin to close. Surely the fact that Roach hasn’t bitten his head off is a big obvious clue… you’d think.</p><p>Apparently not.</p><p>Geralt looks absolutely dumbfounded, and he decides against his better judgment to go along with it. “Still such a lovely mare,” he whispers, trying his luck.</p><p>“<em>What</em>,” Geralt growls.</p><p>“Such a lovely mare!” He says, louder.  </p><p>Geralt frowns, “I thought you said… never mind.”</p><p>Stepping away from Roach, he beams at Geralt with his best smile. “Well then, where too?”</p><p>Geralt sighs, looking up to the sky for a brief moment. “You intend to persist in following me, don’t you?”</p><p>He smiles innocently, “why yes, how observant of you, dear witcher.”</p><p>Geralt stares at him for a moment, as if he hopes that his terrifying dandelion coloured eyes are going to scare him off. After a moment, he relents, turning back to the path. “North.”</p><p>North it is.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N </p><p>Roach is tired of Geralt's brooding and wants Jaskier back.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N sorry this update took a while! Work had me really tired. </p><p>Anyways here is some cheese, but yet it is tooth rottingly sweet? Guess what, it's a cold an windy night.</p><p>Basically, enjoy some more himbo Geralt.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He would never have believed how much comfort sitting on the hard ground as the night drew cold could bring him, because Geralt was <em>right there. </em>Setting up camp, doing whatever witchery-ness he needed to before he could relax. They had a fire, bless melitele’s tits for Igni, and an unlucky rabbit for supper.</p><p>Granted, Geralt was still blissfully unaware that his new companion was in fact his beloved troubadour, but you can’t have everything. At least Roach recognised him, though she was always smarter, which isn’t saying much. How much smarter than a horse do you have to be to be able to recognise your own friend of over two decades. Honestly.</p><p>Alas, Geralt is apparently is not smart enough, and thus he will have to continue this charade of being the humble ‘Erwin.’ It would be a lot easier if Geralt didn’t freak out every time he had done something <em>normal </em>like make that tea or follow him relentlessly. Honestly, it was a little touching that Geralt was so reluctant to bond with another bard… though it was also possible he just didn’t want to torture himself, or have more ‘shit shovelled on him’, as it were.</p><p>Uh well.</p><p>He can elect to believe it was the former.</p><p>He watches as Geralt goes about setting up his bedroll, which wouldn’t upset him at all if weren’t that he had placed it <em>on the other side of the camp</em>. Maybe it was the later after all… <em>It’s a fucking cold night as well, or it will be if the rising wind is anything to go by. Obviously,</em> he didn’t expect Geralt to place his bedroll directly next to his as they had once done, that would be a little …forward. But the other side of the camp, that was a little drastic. He pouts, drawing in the dirt with a stick, trying not to be bothered.</p><p>He’s bothered.</p><p>“You should sleep closer to the fire, bard. The night will be long and cold,” Geralt says flatly, tending to the rabbit.</p><p>He puts down the stick, “lovely, I shall settle in for a night of shivering and misery.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Oh<em>, for fucks sake.</em></p><p>He rolls his eyes. Granted, it had taken Geralt at least a few days after they met before he even let him get closer ‘for warmth’, but it was <em>actually cold</em>. He could<em> freeze. </em>Perhaps he should clue him in a bit more…</p><p>“Is it true that witchers don’t feel the cold as much as the rest of us?” he asks.</p><p>Geralt turns the rabbit, “the mutations allow us to have a higher body temperature, so we don’t get as cold easily, yes.”</p><p>He pulls his doublet around him tighter, “well that’s… handy.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>
  <em>Witchers…</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>He knows the bards cold. Knows what he wants, what he’s asking. Sharing body warmth is… sensible, but it feels like he is betraying Jaskier somehow. For another bard…</p><p>As if he hadn’t betrayed Jaskier badly enough already.</p><p>He signs another <em>Igni </em>discretely, so the fire will burn hotter. The rabbit is almost done anyway, so it’s unlikely he will burn it if he takes it off soon. Getting up, he goes to his packs, finds his cloak. He can’t give what the bard wants of him, but he can give this. He treads over, places it over the bard’s shoulders. While they are matched in height, they are not in bulk, so it swamps the man a bit. More likely to be warm then, he thinks.</p><p>The bard looks up with a start, but soon smiles. He says nothing, returns to the rabbit. He isn’t sure what to say. ‘Sorry I cannot keep you from freezing overnight because I’m afraid it will be betraying my bard, who doesn’t like me very much at the moment. Hopefully my cloak will keep away the icy grip of death instead?’</p><p>Yes, better to say nothing.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s hard not to chuckle. He’s probably trying not to explode that moral compass he insists he doesn’t have, idiot.</p><p>Oh, to love a witcher.</p><p>A constant entertainment.</p><p>At least the rabbit looks edible.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p><em>Fuck </em>its cold.</p><p>Even with Geralt’s blasted oversized cloak he’s still freezing, and if he got any closer to the fire he’d likely die of smoke inhalation. He could go lie next to Roach, but he values his life so that isn’t really an option. They are friends, but she will kill him if he disturbs her rest time.  </p><p>Geralt is also his friend.</p><p>But Geralt doesn’t know that at the moment.</p><p>Even when he did, he never admitted to it anyway so not much has changed really in that regard. Well, not vocally at least. Geralt is more of an action man than a words smith. His affection is shown through acts, while his own is words. Always made things interesting, yet always worked out in the end because he like being shown friendship rather than spoken it, and Geralt liked being talked to even if he didn’t say much himself.</p><p>No matter how many times he was told to shut up, he could see how Geralt relaxed when he rambled.</p><p>But right now, in this lovely weather, wanting to sleep beside Geralt is no longer born out of a desire for closeness, but a desire to <em>not fucking freeze to death.</em></p><p>
  <em>Of all the nights…</em>
</p><p>Reaching the end of his tether, he gets up and wraps the cloak tighter around himself. Emerging as little of himself from it as possible, he drags his bedroll to the other side of the camp and drops it next to Geralt.</p><p>“What are you doing, bard?” Geralt says warningly, but Jaskier can hear the nervousness in his voice.</p><p>He flops himself down beside Geralt, facing his back. “Not freezing to death, dear witcher.”</p><p>“The cloak…”</p><p>He wriggles closer, “is not warm enough, unfortunately. I am sorry for intruding upon your space, but I remembered what you said earlier and thought this was the most fool proof way to not lose my fingers to the frost.”</p><p>The witcher behind him stills, before quickly turning over, concern written across his face. “Your hands- are they at all blue?” Geralt asks, pulling his hands out from under the cloak. “You should have said something earlier,” Geralt growls, searching his hands for any apparent damage.</p><p>He shakes his head, letting his hands fold over Geralt’s, “easy witcher, I will still play the lute come tomorrow, no need to fret.”</p><p>Geralt turns his hands over one more time, likely more to reassure himself than anything else. Warmth floods his chest at the sight of his witchers concern. He almost feels a little bad for worrying him, but his hands aren’t cold anymore.</p><p>Seeming to relax again, Geralt lets his hands go. “Hmm.”</p><p>He smiles, “hmm indeed.”</p><p>The witcher inclines his head, “turn over, you will be warmer that way.”</p><p>Repressing the urge to say something lude, he smiles and turns his back to Geralt. Soon enough he feels the witcher move closer until they are pressed together. Loosening the cloak from himself a bit, he flips it so half lays over the witcher.</p><p>And while Geralt doesn’t pull him closer, he feels warm anyway because even still Geralt is more concerned about ‘Jaskier’s feelings’ then being comfortable himself.</p><p>He loves his stupid witcher.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N </p><p>Geralt is doing his best, ok.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here ya go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Geralt's reputation really had fallen to shit since he'd left, hadn't it? He still played songs in Geralt's name almost everywhere he went. Friends or not, he always worried. He hadn't had any new material in a few years, so it was possible the effect wore off after a while without new tales of great heroics. He also wasn't exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>there </span>
  </em>
  <span>to vouch for Geralt in a tight spot, when an innkeeper wouldn't let him stay, or a lord wouldn't pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Geralt didn't exactly have …tact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would also seem, he was having an awful time at getting contracts. He found them, certainly, but whether he was accepted in handling it was a different matter. It was always 'we never said we wanted a witcher', or 'no, not you. Someone else will come, who isn't a butcher.' He was surprised Geralt could still afford to be on the road in the first place, though, he was resourceful person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally they had found a more desperate individual, or the more open-minded one. But more often than not he had to lend Geralt a hand in securing an individuals confidence. Sometimes it took a few days, which always meant more deaths as a result of the creature. So perhaps it was once again more desperation than anything else that lead them to Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only a few days back Geralt had found a contract outside a small village, more isolated than others. They would not share with Geralt any details of what plagued them, not without the eventual urging of the man whose wife had been killed. It was described as grotesque, rotting. A taste for human flesh. No one who had seen the beasts had actually survived, as it turned out, so their descriptions were questionable. But by the state of the corpses it left behind, Geralt had ruled it to be a necrophage, attracted by the corpses yet to be buried. Possibly an arghoul, given its preference for the living. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unusual, Geralt had added, for there to only be one, but there were no signs of there being more. Yet Geralt had drunk his potions, selected the oils for his swords, and prepared for a fight with a particularly nasty arghoul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And like always, he'd waited for Geralt to return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except there had been no arghoul, nor any other necrophage to speak off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt had been wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A botching, Geralt had said when he came back, a haunted look in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd killed it, rather than save it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Geralt hadn't had a choice, for it had transformed, become a beast that could not be cured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, Geralt explained what it was to the village, how it had come to be. He asked some new questions, pried a little too deep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a bastard, killed by an elder in the village, who believed it brought only shame. No name had been given to it, no headstone. Just the earth. The surest way to create a botching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the truth, and so the stones flew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They bruised more than Geralt's skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>The bard is looking at him funny again, eyes all soft. Pity?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sympathy….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The potions having passed, he could focus on his companion's expressions more now, read them a bit better. It doesn't seem like pity, even though the bard had helped him through the effects of his potions, tended to the broken skin on his face where a stone had struck </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rage he'd seen in the bard's eyes when the first stone flew, he'd only seen it in a few before, and rarely on his behalf. He'd had to stop the bard from picking up a stone and hurtling it right back at them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would not help. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We wanted a man, not another monster. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stokes the fire, wondering if they're right, that he's a monster. He'd killed, rather than try and save. If he had known… would he have made a different choice? Tried what has only been done very little times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn't matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd made his choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It wasn't your fault you know… you didn't deserve any of that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head at the bard's words, "arghouls never hunt by themselves, I should have realised that I was wrong, asked more questions." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard moves to sit across from him. "They weren't exactly cooperative, you didn't have much to go on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then I should have moved on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard looks at him sadly. "We both know you aren't the type to leave people to die."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He growls, "you know nothing of me, bard."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Innocent people… well, most of them anyway, until they stoned you-"the bard pauses. "Actually, they probably would have deserved it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grunts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard fidgets, "how's your head?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit quietly for a while, the bard not even moving to pick up his lute. He appreciates the silence. He'd lied earlier, his head is throbbing like he'd been headbutted by a succubus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd been hurting a lot worse if the bard hadn't intervened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, mustering some courage. "Thank you… for earlier." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard looks up in surprise, "oh, um. Your welcome." He smiles, "I do wish you let me throw that stone, though." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, "I doubt your aim is true enough." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scoffing, the bard dons a look of deep offence. "You do realise I have had some formal combat training, you know, I am a viscount." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns, "are all bards viscounts?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bards face falls, "no, why?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, "you remind me of someone." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bard looks away, suddenly seeming quite interested in the foliage at his feet. "This person… they are your friend?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They were," he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," the bard says to himself, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts the stick down, no longer able to pretend the fire needed any more stoking. "I hope to see him one day, earn his friendship again…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if destiny would be so kind.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>Oh fuck, he's in too deep. Why hadn't he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>said something </span>
  </em>
  <span>back at that inn? Fuck, fuck fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"…if he was your friend, I'm sure he'd allow you the chance to apologise," he says, trying to act normal. Well, if he's doing this, might as well pave the way for Geralt to apologise while he's at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grunts, "wouldn't deserve it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts his head, "that bad, was it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shakes his head, not making eye contact again. "Worse. The things I said to him… he deserved none of it, just as none of it was true." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks over that, wondering if Geralt is at least aware that he is being remarkably open with a near-complete stranger. At least his subconscious isn't as stupid as the rest of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I had heard that your friend can be a bit…much for some people though. Made a lot of people annoyed, angry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt frowns, "you know of whom I speak?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You said I reminded you of someone," he shrugs, reaching for an excuse. "How many other bards have you travelled with other than myself and the Viscount de Lettenhove, Jaskier? Wasn't hard to narrow down." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One could almost say there was only one, and had only ever been one option to narrow it down to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought the same about myself, but Jaskier wasn't most people." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drinks to that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I thought he'd leave the first time I made a similar mistake. Hurt him…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow curiously, "oh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stares into the fire, "I was… rash with my words, didn't think. I wished away his voice by mistake, wanting some quiet. Nearly killed him, ruined his voice …Being a bard, it's everything to Jaskier, and I nearly took it away because of my own stupidity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathes, "there are worse things…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down, "being alone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm." </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you cant tell, Geralt is going to need a little help with this recognising Jaskier business.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N Merry Christmas!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winter is quickly closing in, but they are drawing closer to Kher Morhen by the day. Sort of. Geralt seems determined to attend to every unfortunate traveller or vague, probably-not-a-monster contract that he comes across, just in case. So while they are indeed getting closer to the keep that he definitely doesn't know about, Geralt is opting to take the scenic route. </p><p>He isn't sure scenic is the right word. </p><p>Stressful is more accurate, but it isn't the monsters that are to blame. </p><p>This little charade he's got going has lasted far longer then he'd anticipated. He'd thought that Geralt would pick up on it in a few days and they'd both have a good laugh. Well, <em>he </em>would, Geralt would be mortally embarrassed. </p><p>But it's been weeks, and at this point he's afraid of what will happen when it all ends. </p><p>Geralt has said so many things to 'Erwin' that he'd never admit to Jaskier. Feelings, regrets and secrets that definitely didn't elude that 'Jaskier's' pining had never been one-sided after all. Or the fact that Geralt never said anything about it because he believed his former friend could never see him like that. </p><p>The fact that Geralt hadn't recognised him had quickly become less and less surprising. </p><p>The first day he'd met Geralt, he'd alluded to the witcher about wanting to get him off, for fucks sake. <em>Need a hand? I've got two, one for each of the devils' horns. </em>What the fuck had Geralt thought he meant? Surely not the actual devil-goat thing's horns. Actually, it probably was precisely that…</p><p>Typical, all this time he'd thought Geralt had just been ignoring his advances, but in reality, the dolt had been as bad at recognising them as he is faces. </p><p>Sighing, he trails along beside Geralt, Roach having earned a well-deserved break after carrying Geralt around all morning. </p><p>The problem that now presented itself was that when they reach Kher Morhen and Geralt inevitably finds out what's going on, he's a dead bard. </p><p>It's probably fair, he wasn't meant to hear everything that Geralt had admitted to Erwin, and the only reason he was still lying about being Ewin was cowardice. </p><p>There isn't really a getting out of this one.</p><p>…unless. </p><p>He <em> could  </em>change his clothes and get a haircut, and Erwin could go off for some contest somewhere, only for Jaskier to miraculously appear a few days later knowing far too much about the few months of Geralt's life. </p><p>Probably not a good idea… he'd slip up, say something he shouldn't, and then he'd be in a bigger mess of explaining why he had pretended to be someone else for the last month or so, only to switch to being himself again to hide ever pretending to be someone else. </p><p>Better to just get caught before he escalates things himself by more pretending.</p><p>Except he really doesn't want Geralt to find out. </p><p>Because of the dead bard thing. </p><p>And worse, Geralt will never be his friend again. </p><p>Even <em>worse, </em>he will <em>d</em><em>efinitely </em>not be able to pursue the apparent mutual pining they have for each other. </p><p>On the other hand, if he <em>doesn't </em>get caught, he'll have to keep this charade up. He <em>also </em>wouldn't be able to court Geralt. Granted, he could probably pursue something as Erwin, but that would be horrifically morally dubious. </p><p>He wouldn't forgive himself for that one. </p><p>Fuck, he's fucked. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>He walks along beside Ewin, careful not to walk too fast for the bard. He'd tried that with Jaskier once, when he followed him out of that inn. Didn't work, the bard had remarkably long legs. Nice legs. He also complained for the next few days about the blisters he'd got, seeming to forget who followed who in the end. </p><p>It wasnt his fault he'd gotten blisters anyway, Jaskier walked really fucking fast for a human. </p><p>Erwin had nice legs too, and he also never complained about blisters. Probably because he had real boots on, not whatever it was Jaskier had called them… <em>Dress-boots? </em>He'd always thought that ridiculous. Boots are for travel, work, protecting your feet, not…fashion.</p><p>But it was incredibly <em>Jaskier. </em></p><p>He wonders were Jaskier is now. Probably in some lord or lady's manor, singing songs of their majesty or some other patronising crap, and Jaskier would know that they loved it. He'd be doing well now, singing praise for high lords and the like, not a half-exiled witcher. </p><p>He'd be safer too, far away from all the horrors of the road. No bandits to fear, or monsters to be hurt by. </p><p>Yes, Jaskier would be doing well, dress-boots and all. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><em> Fuck</em>, he's feet hurt.</p><p>He wants his dress boots back.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>Geralt's latest episode of getting side-tracked had led them to a local market. He's not complaining. He needed a good splurge. Geralt had said that he needed some herbs for his potions and oils. Funny thing was, no he didn't. He'd checked them himself only a day ago, and Geralt hadn't used any since. </p><p>Except… </p><p>He had commented he'd needed new boots and new strings for his lute a while ago, but only in passing…</p><p>That meant Geralt had remembered. </p><p>That Geralt had stopped here for <em>him.  </em></p><p>Huh.</p><p>He watches Geralt fondly, who is at a stall buying herbs he doesn't need. He doesn't miss the small bag of chamomile and lavender that is exchanged for some yarrow. </p><p>A warmth grows in his chest. </p><p>…Except he's buying it for Ewin, not Jaskier. Erwin the liar, the fraud, the terrible friend who is in too deep to get himself out of the mess he created. </p><p>This is a new low, he's gotten jealous over himself.</p><p>Sort of. </p><p>Fuck it, he's going to go buy Roach some treats or something. </p><p>He finds a stall, with various delicacies not essential for human survival. Sweet things like honey candies and the like. He barely resists buying the lot, getting away with a small bag of sugar cubes and some honey flavoured things for himself and Geralt. </p><p>Geralt. </p><p>He needs to find something for Geralt. </p><p>What does one buy for a witcher? They're always on the road, so it has to be something either useful or that doesn't take up much space. That leaves out books, as much as he'd like to give Geralt a library of every book he's ever read. Geralt probably would have already read them, with how old he is and all. So, what does that leave him? Clothes? No- Geralt is fussy, even if he doesn't like to admit it. Everything has to be fitting him just right or on the tight side, and he doesn't like things that have obvious seams on the inside, or anything with wool. Scratchy, he'd said once. </p><p>So not clothes then. </p><p>He's partial to warm baths…</p><p>He spends some time finding a stall that sells the like, the vendor a lovely old woman with a kind smile. Nothing that smells to strong… which rules out most of it. Chamomile, weak lavender or honey are in. So is vanilla, though that would be a miracle if he found it out here in the middle of nowhere. </p><p>Settling for the honey soap, and some lavender scented oil for Geralt's hair, he watches as the satchels are wrapped carefully into thin but colourful fabric. Such nice colours, bright but not painful for the eyes. His favourite variation. He misses wearing nice colours. Soft blues and greens, with the occasional sunflower yellow or even a nice coral. Maybe a hat? Oh, and some nice boots. Like his old ones, no matter what Geralt said. Real boots were too heavy, too broad to ever be comfortable. </p><p>And his hair, it is starting to get a tad annoying… he may have to start tying it back like Geralt. Or cut it, along with a shave. He likes the stubble, definitely-not-a-beard, he has going on. Though… it would be nice to be rid of it. </p><p>He's almost tempted to go through with his disappearing-reappearing act. </p><p>It couldn't hurt to wear some colours again…</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>He finds the bard with a vendor selling fabrics of colours that hurt his eyes to look at long. He's brushing all of the fabrics as though to savour the feeling of the soft material, a contrast to the ones he wears now. </p><p>Jaskier always wore soft fabrics. They were nice to touch, if they ever brushed each other, or drew closer at night. They didn't scratch or itch at his skin like this bard's clothes did. Something uncomfortable twists in his gut at the thought of this bard wearing things that Jaskier would have worn. He has no right to say what he can wear, but the similarities of it all hurt. </p><p>"These are nice…" the bard says more to himself. </p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>The bard turns away from the fabrics, face suddenly stern. "What is it?" </p><p>He frowns, wondering what in his tone gave away his thoughts-emotions. "The bard I used to travel with, he always wore colours like that." </p><p>The bard looks taken aback, "Oh- I, sorry." </p><p>He shakes his head, moving away. "You can wear what you like, bard." </p><p>Erwin follows after him, "they would have taken too long to be made anyway." </p><p>"Do you have everything you need?" he asks. </p><p>The bard slows, "I might have a look around for some new strings…" </p><p>He nods, "I saw a notice that the inn is looking for someone to play while the markets are on… we could stay?" </p><p>Erwin looks at him, surprised. "what, really?"</p><p>"Hmm." </p><p>Erwin smiles, "thank you, Geralt."</p><p>He smiles a little back, "hmm." </p><p>Erwin rolls his eyes, wondering away again. When he's far enough away, he goes back to wear the fabrics were. He coughs, trying to get the vendors attention.</p><p>She turns, smiling warmly. "Oh, sorry my dear. I'm not sure I have anything that would be suitable for fighting or trave. Unless you are looking for a doublet?" </p><p>He shakes his head, "not for me. The man I was with earlier, did you get his measurements?" </p><p>Nodding, she reaches for a piece of discarded parchment. "Yes, have them right here. He was looking at those greens over there if you want to surprise him." </p><p>"What did he want made?" he asks, touching the fabrics. </p><p>She smiles, "a doublet I think." </p><p>He nods, "have it made, and trousers to with it. I'll pay you well if you have them done within in the week." </p><p>She nods, taking the fabrics away, "very well, but you do know these fabrics are expensive. Are you sure you have enough?"</p><p>Relenting, he gives her half of what he has. "I have enough, I'll pay the rest when you have finished."</p><p>She takes the crowns, nodding. "Come by in three days, I'll have them done." </p><p>He nods, taking his leave. </p><p>He'll have to forget about having his bedroll repaired until he finds another contract, but so be it. He'd been an ass. He can't continue to get angry every time Erwin does something that reminds him of Jaskier, which was a lot. </p><p>He needs to be better. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Oh how he's missed this. Playing to large crowds, singing new songs for the first time. All these new contracts have proved to be excellent sources of new material for the people. He hops off the stage, smiling as people pat his back and cheer as he finds his way back to Geral-</p><p>"Geralt!" </p><p>Oh fuck. </p><p>Eskel. </p><p>Fuck, it's over. He's done for. <em>Two</em> witchers are going to kill him. </p><p>He pushes through the crowd, which is becoming easier as people start to disperse. He comes to a stop slightly behind Geralt, just as Eskel finds his way to him as well. </p><p>Eskel smiles, "and this is-</p><p>"Ewin. I'm Erwin," he interrupts, smiling in a way that he hopes says 'don't say shit.' </p><p>Eskel nods, after a momment of lapse. "Right… Erwin." His eyes shift to Geralt in question. "how is Jaskier?" </p><p>Geralt crosses his arms, "I told you before, we had a fight." </p><p>Eskel looks between them "…so you haven't seen him lately?"  </p><p>Geralt shakes his head sadly, "no, not for two years." </p><p>Eskel blinks, "right." </p><p>His smile is becoming strained now.</p><p>Eyes lingering on him in question, Eskel turns to his brother. "Geralt, would you mind checking on Scorpion, I haven't had a chance to groom him down yet." </p><p>Geralt grunts, "fine. Don't get drunk without me." </p><p>Eskel chuckles, "wouldn't dream of it, brother." </p><p>He watches as Geralt leaves, preparing himself for the onslaught of questions. Once the inn door has closed, Eskel takes his arm and drags him further into the inn, presumably so Geralt won't be able to hear. </p><p>"Jaskier, what the fuck?" Eskel says, not letting go of his arm. </p><p>He fumbles, "eh…"</p><p>Eskel drops his arm, "has he been cursed?" </p><p>He laughs, "not unless it's with his own idiocy. He doesn't seem to recognise me, but he also doesn't seem to suffer from memory loss." </p><p>Eskel sighs, "small mercies. How long?" </p><p>He shrugs, "about a month or so, ran into him at an inn. He seemed to think I was <em>another </em>strange bard who wanted to follow him across the continent."</p><p>"You're not fucking with me,?" </p><p>He shakes his head, "sadly not." </p><p>"And you haven't been acting differently?" </p><p>"Not a bit." </p><p>Eskel runs a hand over his face, "Meliteles tits." </p><p>He nods, "I agree completely." </p><p>"Why don't you just say something?" </p><p>He chews his lip, "cant." </p><p>Eskel's brow furrows, "what do you mean you can't, go outside and-"</p><p>"<em>I can't </em>, I'm in too deep," he says, looking around to see if Geralt has come back yet. "Geralt… he's said some things he probably wasn't counting on me hearing." He makes a look with his eyes, hoping Eskel catches on. He should by now, he's been venting to him about Geralt for years.</p><p>Eskel straightens up, "oh good, he's told you how he feels then? 'Bout time." </p><p>"I- well, not really," he stutters. "Just… please don't say anything to him, alright. I can't- just trust me." </p><p>Eskel stares him down. </p><p>"Please," he says earnestly.  </p><p>Relenting, Eskel unfolds his arms. "Fine, but if he hasn't clued in by the time you reach the keep, I'm telling I'm myself. I can't deal with this bullshit all winter." </p><p>He lets out a breath of relief, "thank you, Eskel. Truly."</p><p>Dismissing him, Eskel waves a hand. "Uh, no. Don't thank me yet, this is your problem. Fix it. You've lost your chance of me helping you." </p><p>He shoves Eskel playfully, "how is telling Geralt <em>helping me</em>?" </p><p>Eskel rolls his eyes, "because you would have to <em>talk to each other </em>." </p><p>He says nothing to that. </p><p>Eskel sighs, "when do you leave here?" </p><p>He looks around the room again, checking for Geralt. "Were staying for the week so I can play, earn some more coin to keep us going to the keep." </p><p>Eskel folds his arms again, "has Geralt actually told you that's where you're going?" </p><p>He laughs, "no." </p><p>"And he doesn't question why you are still following him, even though he thinks you don't know where he's leading you." </p><p>He smiles, "he never questioned it before."</p><p>Eskel nods knowingly, "well, I'm riding off tomorrow. I was going to stay longer, but I don't think I could stand another moment of whatever that was. You should be thankful it wasn't Lambert that you ran into, your secret would never have held with him." </p><p>"You have a point there," he says, leading them back to the table. "I think I will head up to my room, reduce the chances of spectacular disaster and all." </p><p>Eskel raises a hand, calling over the tavern girl. "Wise move." </p><p>A wise move indeed. </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N I lied, this isn't the last chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s easy to admire the softness of the fabric against his skin. The spinster truly was a master of her craft, the clothes were lovely. He was honestly slightly choked that Geralt had them made him. It was such a kind thought. Honestly, the fact that Geralt continued to show that he was <em>thinking</em> of him was enough to have him feeling light and happy for days.</p><p>It was as if he was receiving an apology for how Geralt treated him on Jaskier’s behalf. Stupid git.</p><p>Perhaps he just likes Erwin better…</p><p>No, no. That is nonsense. He’s always going on about the things he wished he hadn’t said to Jaskier. Well, it was only one time, but he’d looked very sad.</p><p>Besides, Ewin isn’t any different to Jaskier, not really. He hasn’t changed the way he acts, not that he’s aware of anyway. Sure, he’s still a little bitter, but it’s been hard to stay mad at him.</p><p>About these clothes though, this is the only nice pair he has now. He wants to wear them out, on the road as he had once, but he doesn’t have any others if they become ruined. Better to save them for performances. At least he’ll have plenty of opportunities to wear them in this week.</p><p>He also wants to see if they have any possible effect on Geralt’s recognition abilities. If not, the next step was definitely a haircut and a shave. Clothes first, break him into it gently. That seemed to be the best approach rather than just announcing out of the blue that he was in fact Jaskier</p><p>Yes, clothes, then a haircut and shave. That should do it.</p><p> </p><p>--------</p><p>It didn’t do it.</p><p>Well, the clothes anyway. He hadn’t gotten around to any hair maintenance. The local barber was dead, apparently; the plague. How lovely. Tying half of it back also didn’t seem to be having much effect, not that it ever stayed in place. Even while performing now it was coming undone. In all honestly, it only confirmed his suspicious that it was entirely just grime and dirt that kept Geralt’s hair from coming loose.</p><p>Disgusting.</p><hr/><p>He wished Eskel hadn’t left so soon, then maybe he’d be able to help him make sense of the fucking shitstorm of emotions he’s currently feeling while watching the bard perform. It’s the clothes, it’s got to be the clothes. They’re so… Jaskier.</p><p>He misses him, and this bard reminds him of him. He feels things that he’s only felt for Jaskier, but it’s not Jaskier. He also isn’t sure that he isn’t just feeling things <em>because</em> he is reminded of Jaskier.</p><p>The insistent chatter, the music, the company. The care and understanding that Erwin brings him. He misses having that with Jaskier.</p><p>Does he even like Erwin? Or just how he reminds him of Jaskier. Is he being cruel? Will he toss him aside the second he comes across Jaskier, if he ever does.</p><p>Jaskier would have to forgive him first.</p><p>And if he didn’t, would he only be keeping Ewin around as the second choice?</p><p>What if they both would stay?</p><p>Would they get along?</p><p>If his relationship with Yennefer is anything to go by, then he doubts Jaskier would take kindly to having someone else around. No matter how similar they are.</p><p>He watches as Erwin bowls, the way Jaskier always did.</p><p>Everything he does is like Jaskier.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>He takes a drink.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>He can’t help but watch Geralt from his bed. He’s brooding again. He’d been doing it his whole performance. Drinking from his ale like it would help. He’s all tense and troubled looking, arms folded across his chest as he looks up at the ceiling, definitely not even trying to sleep.</p><p>“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” he jokes.</p><p>Geralt blinks, “no.”</p><p>He leans on his elbow and pouts, “then what’s troubling you, oh witcher?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, “yes, of course. How could I mistake someone brooding at the ceiling for being troubled?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>He groans, “oh, will you <em>stop</em> with that. Tell me what you’re thinking about?”</p><p>Geralt lets out a breath. “A bard.”</p><p><em>Oh. Right then. </em>He fidgets with the sheets. “Not yours truly?”</p><p>Geralt says nothing.</p><p>He sits up, curious. “You’re thinking about your last meeting with him again, aren’t you?”</p><p>Geralt remains unmoving. “It isn’t your concern.”</p><p>This has to end. He can’t take the self-loathing anymore. “Why don’t you tell me what you wish to say to him. An apology, perhaps? Or just the thoughts troubling you. Get it out of your system.” He bites his lip, wondering if he should be prying like this. He truly does think it will help, though, without the selfish implications.</p><p>“I haven’t found the words…”</p><p>
  <em>You didn’t seem to have any trouble finding words when you sent me away… </em>
</p><p>No, enough of that. “Try,” he insists.</p><p>Geralt sighs, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>He groans and flops back onto his back, defeated. “Well done. Very thought out and personal.”</p><p>“Fuck off, bard.”</p><p>He snorts, not sure what he expected. “Come on,” he presses, “you haven’t given it some thought?”</p><p>So shoot him, he’s a selfish bastard.</p><p>Shifting slightly, Geralt tucks an arm behind his head. “I’m not… I’m not good with words like you bards are.”</p><p>“What about actions,” he offers. “You seem to be a man of action.”</p><p>“I’d… buy him a horse.”</p><p><em>Geralt you socially inept idiot…</em> “you’d buy him a horse as a means of apologising,” he scoffs, “that might work on you, but I’m not sure-”</p><p>“So he could travel alongside me with greater ease,” Geralt interrupts dryly.</p><p>He blinks, surprised. “Right, yeah. That’s… a start.”</p><p>Geralt inclines his head to him, “a start?”</p><p>He waves his arms into the air in exasperation. ”you have only shown that you want him to travel with you again, but you haven’t done anything to earn that companionship. It was you in the wrong, yes? What will you do to show that things will be different? That you care? That you are sorry?”</p><p>He lets his arms fall back onto the bed, exasperated and upset. Honestly, he thought that Geralt seemed guilty enough that he’d given this some thought, but apparently-</p><p>“I’d stop saying that I’m not his friend.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>That’s…</p><p>That would be nice.</p><p>“He likes nice clothes, and smells. I’d stop by markets more for him, stay at towns longer so he could play. Tell him some things I wish I’d said before. Say I’m sorry.”</p><p>He fidgets with the sheets. <em>You’re already doing all that.</em></p><p>Geralt looks at him again, “I’d find the words.”</p><p>He looks away, feeling flushed and overwhelmed all at the same time. Looking at him wasn’t making it an easier. “I’d forgive you,” he says quietly.</p><p>“Wrong bard, bard.”</p><p>He rolls over, chuckling to hide the lump developing in his throat. “Right.”</p><p>
  <em>If you only knew…</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>They’re dead. They’ve died and they’ve become one of the spectre things Geralt always fights. The fucking griffin has ripped them apart and is currently feeding their remains to its ugly children, he knows it.</p><p>Except soon the dust settles, and he finds that he isn’t any of those things. He hurts, definitely. Bruised for certain. But last time he checked Geralt didn’t wear a dress. Then who…</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Death was now preferable.</p><p>
  <em>Yennefer.</em>
</p><p>She makes no move to help him up, instead letting him scramble to his feet. “You,” he says, bitterly.</p><p>“Bard,” she says, sounding almost fond.</p><p>Liar.</p><p>She turns to Geralt, who is looking more dust then witcher at the moment. He spits something into the dirt, probably just more dust, and gets to his feet.</p><p>“Yen,” he says, hiding none of the whirlwind of emotions that must be spinning around in his head.</p><p>She remains unmoved, “thought you might be heading this way, I was going to warn you about the nests, but it seems you have already found one.” She turns to him, feigning amusement, “Jaskier, I’m surprised to see you still following Geralt around like a lost pup.”</p><p>He interjects, “uh, actually-“</p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em>?”</p><p>Oh shit.</p>
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